Eloise's Course Correcting Universe
by DinosaursOnASpaceship
Summary: A nonlinear collection of drabbles about the life of Eloise Hawking.
1. She Knew

She looks at him and her heart swells. She looks at him and her heart breaks. She looks at him and sees a very different face, the face of the man he will one day be. This face stares up at her in shock and fear. She looks on as life leaves it and all she can do is look at his face now and imagine— no, not imagine. She doesn't have to imagine. She knows. That little chubby face that smiles with ease at the wonders of life, one day she will cease that smile. She holds him anyway and teaches him all he needs. To walk, to talk, to count, to play. But still, she looks at him and she knows. She knows too much.

He takes to all and everything, science and music, linguistics and history. She's so very proud of him, but never tells him so. The face in the back of her mind was a physicist and so she molds one. She pushes him and pushes him and takes away all things frivolous. The piano, the music books, the toys, the paints. Soon when she looks at his face, she can see it's resemblance to the one in her mind. One day she looks at him and he's become that man from so long ago. She's always known it would happen.

And now that chubby face that smiled with ease is gone and it's her fault — except not in the way she thought. He's resentful and upset. But still a success, at least she has that. Then the accident happens and she hears about it from the other half of his genetic code. The life she pushed him into deteriorates his mind and leaves him broken. This she didn't know. How could she have known?

She looks at him and her heart swells. She looks at him and her heart breaks. She looks at him and it is the face of the man he has become. _Will it make you proud of me?_ He asks and she feels the last strands of hope slip through her grasp. _Yes, Daniel. It will._ Time has won and taken him away from her, on a freighter that will carry him to the island. The island that will move through time. Time that will stop just long enough for their paths to cross on that fateful day.

_You knew. You always knew. You knew this would happen and you sent me here anyway._

Yes. She had.


	2. The Tempest

The thunder boomed outside, shaking the walls of the little house, but Eloise didn't mind. Growing up on the island, she was acutely aware that there were things much scarier than storms — especially now that she had a solid roof and walls surrounding her. So despite the _booms_ and _crashes_, Eloise was drifting off to a peaceful sleep, warm and dry in in her too large for one bed. What did, however, pull her away from a, hopefully, dreamless sleep was the light pitter patter of tentative feet, almost inaudible under the rumble of the storm outside.

_Daniel._

Fully alert now, the woman listened with absolute concentration. _Where on earth is that boy going?_ To her, it would seem. The door creaked open and— nothing. The footsteps stopped and for a moment, a frozen fear flooded Eloise's veins. She sat up, expecting to see the very worst. _I… I'm your son._

Instead, she was met with the small figure of her son as he was now— not who he one day would be. It took a few seconds for Eloise to let anything other than relief enter her mind, but then the room was illuminated in a crack of lightening and she could see the extent of fear in her young Daniel's face. Suddenly nothing else mattered.

"Daniel, is something the matter?" She asked softly, her brow furrowed, a slight frown returning to her features. The boy seemed… hesitant. It dawned on her that the only thing in this moment he feared more than whatever had called him from his bed, was her. Even now, he was shuffling his feet uneasily, not quite meeting her eyes.

_CRASH!_

This small body convulsed in fright and Eloise's heart broke. She scooted over and patted the empty side of the bed. He had come here for comfort, and dammit, Eloise could provide him that much.

"It's alright," she assured him, just in case he was still uncertain. His fear for the storm seemed to outweigh his fear of her disapproval, however, and quickly the little boy hurried over and scrambled into the bed beside her. Eloise knew she wasn't the most affectionate of parents. It was difficult to be when every time she was beginning to feel at ease, the image of him dying would infect her mind. Distancing herself from Daniel was not her intention, but it was, unfortunately, a reaction. Now, though, there was obvious distress in her young son's face and any selfish emotions could wait.

"It's just the weather outside, Daniel." Wrapping her arm protectively around him, Eloise looked down at Daniel with a reassuring smile. "It can't hurt you."

"I know," his voice was small and scared, his eyes were fixed in front of him. "And I know I should know better. I'm sorry, mother."

"Hush," Eloise frowned, leaning over so she was at eye level with him. "Look at me, Daniel." He obeyed, flinching slightly as another clamor of thunder shook through the house. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I— I woke you up—" Daniel stammered, his voice weakened by the heavy rains hitting the windows. Eloise shook her head, managing another comforting smile.

"I was already awake. Besides, I am your mother. It's my job to make you feel safe. Do you feel any safer now?"

"Sorta," Daniel's eyes shot wearily towards the window and Eloise was sure he was anticipating the next round of thunder and lightning. She pulled him closer to her, her hand smoothing over his hair.

"Daniel?" His eyes were back on her— ever the obedient son. "Do you know why it rains?" He nodded. "And what thunder and lightening are?" Another nod. "Then why don't you tell me?" He looked at her with a puzzled little expression a moment before once more nodding mumbling a small: _Okay_. Eloise smiled. "First, let's lie down, shall we?"

She unwound her arm from around the boy's shoulders as he burrowed himself further under her comforter. Eloise followed suit and soon she was face to face with him. She tried to push aside any awareness of what that face would one day become, and instead concentrate on how it looked now. He was a handsome young boy despite the bits of Charles that were inevitably and obviously present. But Daniel was more intelligent than both his parents combined. His mind an incredible thing to see at work, even when he was frightened.

"It's the action of warm air rising and cold air sinking," Daniel began softly, his eyes unfocused as he recited what he knew. "Convection. Warm air is less dense so it rises, but as it rises it loses heat, colliding the warm and cold air, and thus condensing into clouds—"

"What kind of clouds?" Eloise encouraged.

"Cumulus at first," Daniel replied, not missing a beat. "When the air reaches its dew point, the rain begins to form and latent heat is released. The heat warms the air so it continues to rise, but there is already cool air. It creates an instability." A particularly strong gust of wind shook the windows, howling as if in pain, but Daniel hardly seemed to notice. "The warm air just keeps rising through convection until it reaches the tropopause, then it can't go any higher so it has to spread out. That's how cumulonimbus clouds get their cool shape. The water particles inside condense and freeze, but warm up enough when they fall to become liquid again. There needs to be both an updraft and a downdraft to create the internal turbulence needed for lightening."

"And what is lightning?" Eloise absorbed and processed every word with ease as Daniel spoke. He was incredible and Eloise was so proud. She couldn't, however, say that. He needed to be pushed: to know more, to learn more, to gain more. There wasn't time for ego fluffing.

"Electrical discharge from electrically charged regions of the clouds," he said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And the thunder?"

"It's the sound that comes from the sudden increase in temperature and pressure from the lightning in the air, which then expands and creates a sonic shock wave. That's what we hear." The glossy look in his eyes faded, awareness returning to them and something else. Confidence. Eloise beamed.

"That's very good, Daniel," the boy's face shone with pride, not even noticing as another crack of lightning filled the room. "It's not so scary now, is it?"

"What do yo— oh!" Daniel's face registered what his mother had meant. The world was a scary place, but once one knew the truth behind their fear, it could suddenly seem not as intimidating.

Well, unless that person was Eloise.

It didn't take long for Daniel's eyes to droop and sleep to find him. His knowledge had trumped any lingering fear he'd had about the storm outside. Eloise, on the other hand, found no solace in knowing, in fact it kept her up for hours after Daniel had drifted off. She lay there, staring at the serene face of a boy who would one day be a man, a man she would had killed. This time knowing the truth did not make it better. If anything, it just made it all the more difficult.

_ You knew. You always knew.  
You knew this was gonna happen. You sent me here anyway._


	3. Mother's Day

Mother's Day had never felt quite right to Eloise. For what reason should she be celebrated? Surely not for killing her son before she had even given birth to him? No. Mother's Day was a fancy she could do without. Daniel's success alone was more than enough to compensate for motherhood. And while all of this crossed her mind each year, she did her best to pay the day no heed.

That is, until Mother's Day 2005, when 70 year old Eloise Hawking found herself in a dimly lit pub, glass in hand.

Daniel was dead. He was dead the moment he had boarded the freighter and it had been Eloise who had damn near pushed him onto it. It had been months since she had last seen him. Longer than that since they had last spoken. She tried to recall the way he looked that last face to face interaction. The frail, broken man she had molded. His hesitant fingers above the keys of the piano. The sad look of confusion on his worn, still young features. But try as she may, it was his dying face from all those years ago that was most prominent and vivid image in her mind. Shocked, incredulous eyes fading to a blank lifeless stare. Eloise took another shot of whiskey, pleading with her old mind to stop. It must have looked odd. Her squat, wrinkled figure, glowing white halo of hair, and a half empty whiskey bottle on the counter in front of her.

The drinking didn't help, Eloise had realized too late. She drank, trying to drown out the one fact repeating in her mind over and over again, but it would not quiet. Quite the contrary. It had started off as a nagging whisper, but now it screamed in her mind and heart and soul. Vibrated harshly through every nerve of her body.

_You aren't even a mother anymore._

… If she ever _really_ had been one.


	4. Goodbyes

Everything she had was in a small sack beside her bed. One last night on the island and then… then her next job would begin. She knew it well, what was required of her. What the island required of her. The camp was asleep, most of them unaware that their fearless leader would be leaving them before daybreak. It was better that way, no anticipation. Now if only she could get at least an hour of sleep.

Alas, her mind wasn't being compliant— not that it usually was. There was nothing but loneliness and heartbreak ahead and as Eloise lay in her bed, back facing the mouth of her tent, she could almost contemplate running away.

**_But you'll die._**

Her stomach was more noticeable now and it was only a matter of days until the symptoms would start; she'd seen it happen again and again, ever since that incident at the Dharma Initiative station. An incident, Eloise was now sure, she'd only worsened by giving Jack and Kate the bomb. Whatever the case, it was certain: if she stayed on the island, she would die. Somehow, that didn't make leaving any easier.

Eloise lay there, sleep an eternity away, the sounds of the island — once such a lullaby — she listened to with intense concentration. She had to memorize it. Never forget it. Never forget her home.

That was how she heard the footsteps minutes before they stepped into her tent. It couldn't possibly be time to leave yet, Eloise was sure. That meant it wasn't Richard.

No, Eloise knew exactly who it was, and she had no desire to speak with him **ever **again.

Charles made his way quietly through the tent to her. She could feel him hovering above her, sense a warmth she'd once been too familiar with. All of that was over now, though. He'd thrown it away as he'd thrown her away. Even as he sat down on the edge of her bed, she didn't move. For all he knew, she was asleep— though a part of her knew that he wasn't so ignorant to believe that. For an infinite second, there was complete silence. Nothing moved, not the air outside, not the trees, not the grass… not the two ex-lovers.

But then she felt him shift beside her and her heart stopped.

Charles' hand was on her pregnant stomach and for some reason Eloise let it be. Maybe there had been a day when the two had dreamed of raising their son together. Maybe there'd been a time when hope had turned them foolish to reality. They both had a hand in what was to come. Eloise's had been her gun and Charles' his… well, his straying. He'd never get to be the father of this child in anything but DNA, Eloise would make sure of that. Still, the feel of his hand over her skin broke something within the woman— and she soon found that her own hand, of some power beyond her, was on top of his.

Tomorrow, he'd be gone from her life, but tonight there was room for faded dreams— dreams where she and Charles were together, a proper family, and they could watch their child grow without fear. Something — if anyone was watching they might have mistaken it for a tear — rolled down Eloise's cheek and her throat suddenly felt raw. For a moment longer she wavered on his hand, on all that he'd meant to her, but she had to let go. And she did.

"Goodbye, Charles."

"Goodbye, Eloise."


End file.
